The Corpse Was Blind - Chapter 4

Ray Irish Mystery Case File #4

Irish left City Hall as the sun fell behind the horizon. The darkening streets carried the commuters back to their homes while the shamus took a detour back to his office. When he reached the newsstand of his friend, Pappy, he found the wiry man sitting on a stool, looking ready to close up his stand. Wearing his familiar pork-pie hat, along with his brown sweater and black vest, the newsy took a long drag from his cigarette as he watched Ray coming.

“You’ve been missing your issues,” the gray-hair man stated as he held out the latest issue of Weird Tales.

“I know. I can’t seem to find time to read them when I’m pounding the pavement for the next job,” the shamus complained.

“You can always work for the newspaper. I can get you a job delivering the bundles from the trucks.”

Irish grunted at him.

“No thanks, I’ve seen you handling those things. Too damn heavy for a small guy like me.”

Pappy chuckled as he took another puff from his cancer stick.  

“Just remember how good you’ve got it when you can stay in an office,” the newsy told him. “Emma’s been on me for years about getting a desk job.”

Ray leaned back against the stand as he stood next to his friend.

“Yeah, the winters in Oyster City are pretty brutal. Hell, your stand is a fixture around here. I don’t imagine people would like the change.” He scratched his head.

“Still, with your knowledge of the history about this area, I’d think you could get something at the museum or library.”

The man glanced at Ray.

“That’s funny. I’ve seen black folk become docents. It’s 1948 in case you forgot.”

Irish sighed.

“Ok, I should keep my trap shut.”

Pappy shook his head.

“No need. The fact that you and I are friends just proves what my momma used to tell me. Someday people will treat each other like humans.”

“From her lips to God’s ears,” the shamus said.

The men went silent for a moment.

“Do you have any interesting news today?” Ray changed the subject.

“Nah, other than the Soviets meddling in the Middle East and the king of Italy abdicated. Also, a couple of strangers came by asking about the Clyde Davies.” Pappy told him.

It was a normal routine to get his friend’s updates on the world news when Irish stopped by. Ray waited for the expected next tidbit.

“By the way, the paper’s columnist, Mrs. Gladys Purvey, advises her readers that there’s a revolution going on with shorter hair for women.”

Ray frowned, looking at the darkening sky, then turned his magazine to catch the light of the streetlamp above them.

“I’ll ask again. Why does a woman’s fashion matter to me? I know you read about it for your wife.”

Pappy chuckled.

“I swear, you’ll never find a girl if you can’t at least talk with them. Do what the columnist does, read the latest issue of Vogue. Then, you’ll at least know the difference between a pompadour and a bird’s nest.”

Irish rolled up his magazine and handed a dime to his friend, who grinned at him.

“I’ll try to remember that,” the shamus said. “By the way, you acted like Davies is someone I should know.”

Pappy pocketed the money as he stood.

“Oh, that’s right, you probably didn’t hear about it.”

He went over to the other end of his wooden stand and pushed his magazine displays back into the middle of the platform.

“Davies and some other guys were court martialed on the army base outside of town.” Pappy slid the stand into the middle of his box structure.

“It was pretty hush hush around here with the war going on. All I heard was rumors. There was an article about some soldiers going to military prison. That’s why the name rang a bell with me when those men stopped by today.”

“You know why they were asking questions?” Ray asked as he helped Pappy lower the metal awning to cover the front of the stand.

“Well, they acted like government men from the questions and their suits. You know, black suits and starched collars.”

Irish smiled at the description.

“Yeah, I know the type. Well, I’m heading to my office. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Alright, but remember, Emma expects you to drop by next week.”

Irish waved acknowledgement as he continued along the sidewalk. His face broke into a smile as he thought about Pappy and Emma. When Ray first came over to dinner one night, his friend confessed Emma had died a few years before. However, Pappy still spoke to her ghost and claimed she spoke to him all the time. Emma was Pappy’s guardian angel in some ways. His friend contended that she even warned him about things Ray would run into in the future. While Irish remained skeptical, he wasn’t about to condemn Pappy for the behavior.

“Mr. Irish, can we have a word with you?”

The voice carrying a New York accent caught Irish by surprise. He looked over to see two men standing in the shadows. Ray frowned, glancing around the quiet street as the men approached.

“No need to worry, shamus. This is official business. I’m Decker,” a medium built man with a ruddy complexion came into the light.

“This is Harvey. We’re with the FBI.”

Ray observed the lanky man with a pale face and cold eyes who flipped open a wallet with a silver badge that glinted from the streetlight above. Harvey slipped it into his black coat pocket as he remained quiet.

“Black suits and starched collars. You definitely matched the description.” Irish smirked.

Decker grinned coldly.

“Yeah, a wise guy who bummed around for a while, then became a private dick. We’ve heard about you. You’re not popular in this town.”

Irish pushed back his fedora and scratched at his chin.

“Well, I can’t argue that point. So, what’s the government want to chew the fat with me about?”

“Oh, just a bit of advice for you.”

Decker came too close, looking up at Irish. The shamus glimpsed the man’s partner stepping around to Ray’s side. A classic bullying tactic that made Irish scowl.

“Stay away from Mary Leigh,” Decker said. “Forget she called you.”

“Why would the FBI give a damn about me talking with her?”

Irish didn’t expect the agent to take offense to his question. But the quick punch that struck Ray’s solar plexus sent the shamus to his knee. He gasped for air while Decker adjusted his suit.

“When the FBI asks the questions, you just answer,” the man looked down at Ray. “That’s how it works, so remember your manners around me. My partner and me would hate to see you end up like Trevor Leigh. It’s our job to protect dumb citizens like you.”

The sound of the men’s footsteps casually walking away finally faded when Irish finally got his wind back. He stood and leaned against the lamppost while looking toward where the two government thugs went. They were out of sight, and he spat on the sidewalk in disgust. He remembered shore patrol goons who acted like those government agents.

“Well, payback is always a bitch,” he said as he turned away and continued on his journey.

When Irish arrived at his office, he found a young woman with short, strawberry-blond hair sitting in his chair. She wore a black sweater and had her feet propped up on his desk. In her hands, she held a tumbler of his whiskey. He could tell by the nearly empty flask sitting on his desk.

“I had a feeling you’d show up today,” Ray told her as he went to the desk. “Alright, Cat, what scheme have you got cooked up this time?”

The woman glared at him, then finished her drink as she pulled her feet from his desk.

“Tell me if you believe ghosts are real or not!”

Irish picked up the flask.

“You’ve had too much if you’re asking me crazy questions already.”

Catherine Bennett stood and placed the tumbler on the desk.

“I’m serious. I want you to tell me the truth. You act like you believe in spirits around Pappy.”

The shamus frowned. He suppressed his initial urge to remind her again that her new boyfriend was a shyster. He doubted the man came from the Middle East, let alone he talked with ghosts. Still, Ray never really considered the matter deeply.

“All I can say is I know a guy who claimed his dad’s ghost got him to move out of a foxhole. A few minutes after the kid left, the foxhole took a direct mortar round. I’ll take that kind of luck any day.” He took a swig of Irish whiskey from the flask, then sat on the edge of his desktop.

“As for Pappy, he’s warned me about things that hit pretty close to home, so I’m not going to discount his beliefs.”

The man held out his flask to Cat, who shook her head.

“Now, as for your new boyfriend, I’ll reserve judgement.”

“That’s a weasel’s way out of answering my question,” she stated.

“You think so? Well, the last time you asked me about your conquest, it turns out he had two wives.”

Cat went silent and Ray glanced over.

“Sorry, that’s picking on a sore spot. Anyway, why do you want to know my opinion?”

“Because Omar gave me an antique as a present and I think I have a ghost in my apartment because of it.”